


Do You Want To Kill A Snowman?

by SheegothBait



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Christmas fun, Fluff, Gabe is a softie, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Many awful implications, Reaper violently murdering a snowman, Sombra is a little shit, Widowmaker has feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21770698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheegothBait/pseuds/SheegothBait
Summary: Widowmaker, Reaper, and Sombra have been dispatched to retrieve data from an old research facility in the northern part of Europe, but Reaper hates the cold. Sombra thinks up an idea to cheer him up.It works better than she expects.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	1. Do You Want To Kill A Snowman?

“Gabe, you look miserable.” Sombra glanced back at him. “More miserable than usual, that is. Yeesh. Cheer up, _jefe;_ we’ll be done with this job soon, and then we can go have cocoa together.”

“I hate the cold.” Reaper growled through gritted teeth, his broad form hunched against the wind, his arms crossed over his chest. “And we are _not_ having cocoa together.”

_“He’s just upset he’s not able to wear black on this mission. Isn’t that right, Gabriel?”_ Widowmaker’s sultry tone in his ear teased him, and he clenched his talons on his arms. 

“I hate the cold, and that’s the last word on the subject.” He stamped his feet in the snow. “Hurry up with that door. I don’t want to be stuck out here much longer.” He drummed his fingers against his arms, his talons _tick-tick-ticking_ against his body armor. The ordinarily-threatening sound was lost in a gust of wind. 

_I hate winter._

“Think fast!” Sombra shouted, and he felt something strike him in the back of the head. He whirled, his shotguns materializing in his hands, to point at a rather shocked-looking Sombra holding a compacted lump of melting snow. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of a snowball fight before, Gabe.”

“Do that again…” the Reaper hissed, his words dripping venom. 

The hacker slumped, her eyes rolling. “Come _on,_ boss. The program’s going to take some time to run, what with it being so old, and we’ve got nothing to do in the meantime.” 

“I can think of a few ideas,” he snarled. The snow was starting to soak into his cloak, chilling him further. 

“I’ll keep score.”

“You’d lose,” he said flatly, emptying his hands and brushing snow particles off his hood. It was true. Even without Moira’s augments, he could still beat the little imp of a hacker with one hand tied behind his back. Besides, hitting her in the head with one might give her a concussion given his strength.

“If you won’t do a snowball fight, how about making a snowman together?”

“ _No,”_ he snarled, a tight, dry _tuh_ in his ear indicating that Widowmaker was listening in on the entire conversation and found it very amusing.

“Then we can each build one and-“ 

“ _I said no._ ” 

Sombra scoffed and crossed her arms, turning back to the big, solid, immovable door with her arms crossed.

“So now we wait,” she said drily.

“Now we wait,” he echoed. The hacker fell silent, and the loudest sound became the wind, gusting across the snow and rattling the mostly-empty window panes of the abandoned buildings around them. He shivered and kicked moodily at the drifts around his feet. _I hate winter._ The dead grass that his idle shuffling had stirred up shifted limply in the wind, its golden color reminding him of…

_Great._ Now he really _did_ want to kill something. He flexed his claws, looking around. The only other person within easy range was Sombra, and unfortunately she was essential to the mission. 

“What?”

Sombra was staring at him, her head cocked. 

“You’ve got one of your looks, Gabe. Whatcha thinking?” 

“I really wish I could kill you right now.” 

“You’re a ray of sunshine.” Sombra shrugged and scooped up another handful of snow. “I’m bored, and since we’re stuck here, I’m going to entertain myself. You can join me if you want.” 

He watched her push the snowball around. It was childish of her, but at least it was keeping her out of his hair. Another gust of wind tugged at the hood of his cloak. He shivered, but Sombra seemed not to feel it. His gaze fell to his feet, and an idea suddenly popped into his head. He flexed his talons in anticipation and knelt in the snow. 

***********************

Sombra jabbed the snowman’s other arm in, then stepped back from her creation. The limited availability of material meant the snowman’s eyes were two mismatched leaves and the mouth was a crooked line of splinters, but it looked okay, she thought. Making the thing had burned a little time, at least. Though, come to think of it, the dashed smile did make it look a little like its mouth had been stitched shut…

Rapid, heavy breathing startled her, and she turned around to see Gabe gouging at a Gabe-sized lump of snow with his talons and knife as though it had done him a personal wrong. 

“Gabe, chillax. We got time, and last I checked, that snow didn’t do anything to you.”

“Get me some grass.”

“Aw, gee, _jefe_. Fresh out. If I’d known you smoked-“

“ Not _that_ grass, _idiota._ This.” He plucked a blade of dead grass from between his feet. “I found it over there.” He pointed to a scuffed-up patch of snow, not bothering to take his eyes off whatever he was making. 

“What do you need it for?” 

“Just do it. You said you were bored.” 

She opened her mouth to protest, thought better of it, and began to dig. Unearthing the dry strands was only slightly better than standing around, but was still better nonetheless. She gathered a handful. 

Reyes took one look at the offering and sent her back for more. 

“What _are_ you making anyway?” She asked when she returned with the second handful. Gabriel had put his knife away and was carving smaller details with his talons, working on a passable recreation of a man’s torso and lower legs, complete with what looked like a utility belt or bandolier of some sort. She could make out a head and a blocky torso with arms folded across its chest. 

“Not bad,” she offered.

“Not finished.” He snapped back.

“Is that-“ Her earbud chimed, indicating the program had finished running and the door was now open. _Sooner than expected._ She smiled smugly. Apparently she was better than even she thought. 

“Hey Gabe. _Gabe._ ” 

“Busy.”

“Gabe, the program-“

“Shut up, Sombra. I’m busy.”

She shrugged and slipped inside the abandoned base. There was no point in arguing with him when he was like this.

*******************

Distant gunfire tore Sombra from the quiet dark that surrounded her. She swore as she recognized the sound of Gabriel’s shotguns and tried to contact him. 

“Reyes! What’s going on?”

Reyes laughed maniacally in her ear, his shotguns pounding a steady beat against her eardrums. 

“Reyes!”

No answer. She readied her own weapon and an EMP pulse, and triggered her translocator. 

“ _Argh_!”

She stumbled backward, nearly colliding with her boss. He whirled on her. 

“Sombra!” 

He snatched his cloak from off the ground. Sombra noticed it was full of bullet holes. 

“What are you doing? You scared the shit out of me, _jefe_! And why did you shoot your cloak full of bullets?” 

“None of your business. Did you get the files?” 

Her eyes strayed to the glints of gold among the snow, and it suddenly clicked. How had she overlooked it?

“That snow sculpture…that was Jackie, wasn’t it?”

“No.” His voice was strangled, rendering the reply even more hoarse than usual. 

She grinned at him. “Liar,” she sang. “C’mon, _jefe_. You’re terrible at lying.” She winked. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep it our secret.”

“You’d better.” His body dissipated into smoke, and he reappeared some yards away, his cloak intact. “Did you get the files?” 

“Yeah, yeah. I got the files. Easy job; the hardest part was the doors, which were outdated enough not to interface easily with. Luckily, the rest of their tech was easier to deal with.” 

Gabriel had gone very still. 

“What?”

“Where’s the Widowmaker?” 

She shrugged. “Dunno.”

He didn’t respond, ghosting through the trees.

“C’mon, Gabe!” Sombra complained, jogging after him. “She does this all the time!”

“I want to go, and we can’t leave without her. So find her.” 

She sighed and fiddled with her hardlight interface. All of Talon’s special operations had infrared tags built into their gear so they could be identified and located, including and especially the Widowmaker. 

“This way.” She pointed through the broken-down buildings, starting to regret her choice in footwear. The boots she wore protected her feet fine from the cold, but were too short to handle the knee-high drifts piled in some places. Within five minutes, her feet were soaked and freezing. 

“ _Arana?_ ” She called as she drew within a few yards of the rusty water tower. A large dent shaded the snow beside the water tower, and she investigated. 

_Oh no._

She scooped the Widowmaker’s abandoned helmet from the snow. 

“ _Jefe,_ we’ve got a problem…”

Sombra’s earbud crackled, and the assassin’s voice came through, tinny, but clear. 

“ _Look who’s out blundering around in the snow again.”_

The sound of an engine purred up behind them, and the hacker swung round as a nondescript vehicle pulled up. She saw a flicker of movement behind the tinted glass. Reaper stomped up to the window and banged an armored fist against the glass. 

“What the hell are you doing? This was supposed to be a quick in-out mission.”

The Widowmaker rolled down the window and gave him a haughty look. “Bribed a few people, threatened a few more. Had someone meet me outside the perimeter with the car. It’s almost Christmas, and I’m going to enjoy it away from the base. It won’t kill you to tell them the mission took a little longer than expected.”

Gabe paused, the smoke usually billowing around him condensing into a thick fog at his feet. “Fine, but there’d better be alcohol.”

“Of course,” the assassin said, her expression deadpan. “Now are you going to stand there, or do you want to come with?” 

“I’m in,” Sombra said, throwing open the passenger door and plopping herself on leather seats. She sighed and stretched out. _Heated_ leather seats. Gabriel hundred down in the back, brooding and looking uncomfortable. She turned and grinned at him. 

“Aw, come on, _jefe._ This will be fun.” She propped her feet up on the hickory dashboard.

“Keep your filthy feet off the car, Sombra. This was expensive.” Blue fingers caressed the dash.

Sombra scowled and straightened. _No es divertido._ Maybe the assassin would be more entertaining with some alcohol in her. 


	2. In From The Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel, Sombra, and the Widowmaker go drunk ice-skating. Gabriel later has a private conversation with the Widowmaker regarding Talon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I am not going to write angst this time!
> 
> Angst: *laughs in Widowmaker's backstory*  
> **************

Eggnog made everything better. Or maybe it was just the copious amount of alcohol he’d added to his drink.

He couldn’t really tell, nor did he care much.

Either way, it was nice to shed his cloak and armor, to walk barefoot on wooden floors instead of clomping around in heavy combat boots. As entertaining as it was to scare Talon lackeys half to death, it also tired him, always playing the moody, blood-hungry killer to Moira’s cold, calm logic or Doomfist’s infectious fanaticism.

 _Remember the list,_ Moira would always advise him when he had these thoughts. _Talon can help bring you what you’re searching for. Be patient._

Oh, he _did_ still want revenge. Very much so.

He took a mouthful of eggnog, felt it burn its way down his throat.

Maybe he’d made it too strong. Sombra had somehow taken and shared with him video she’d recorded of her and him and Widowmaker attempting to ice-skate on the pond out back after a fair quantity of the festive liquor. Sombra had flailed and scooted around on her butt and laughed, and he’d slipped and fallen, cursing profusely. Widowmaker had been the only one who’d taken to skates with any success, flitting around the pond with the grace and agility of a bird. Sombra said she’d kept the video for blackmailing him, and he had to remind himself she was an important asset to Talon.

He went to the window and peered out. The wreath on the back porch shone faint light into the back, but beyond the arborvitae standing sentinel on either side of the deck, shapes blurred into the dark. He couldn’t see her, but she must still be out there, turning circles and leaping like the dancer she used to be, her long, long hair trailing behind her as she glided on one foot, her arms out as though she was in flight.

He wondered if she realized how much she resembled the dancer she claimed to have left behind.

His phone buzzed. He picked it up and felt sweat burst up his neck. A single text, two words. From Moira.

_Enjoying yourselves?_

Fucking Sombra. The _pendeja_ had probably drunk-texted the scientist when she sent the video. But the damage was done, and Moira had more to say.

_I was under the impression you were working._

He swore and jammed at the screen. If she was pissed they hadn't included her, she would report them. And then they’d be in serious trouble.

_It’s the holidays. Stop bothering us._

A response came quickly, faster than he expected.

_So it is. However, bothering you is exactly what I feel needs to be done, if your previous record is any indication of your disregard for the weather._

His forehead furrowed. _What?_

_Tell Lacroix to wear a coat. I am not treating frostbite. Just because she can’t feel it doesn’t mean basic physics doesn’t still work._

She probably thought he was being stupid, and his irritation flared. He typed out a response.

_We have the data. You’d better not report this, or I’m going to eat your rabbits._

_I’m absolutely quaking, Gabriel,_ the next text read. He could practically hear her sarcastic drawl. She knew he knew better than to mess with her experiments. _What you do with your own time is your business. Just make sure you don’t come back in pieces, yes?_

 _Yeah, yeah. I got it,_ he sent back.

_Good. Do try to have fun. I know it’s difficult for you to unwind, and a little vacation will do you some good._

_Goodnight, Moira_ , he responded pointedly, then flipped over his phone and shut it off. Easier said than done, especially when the boss that could get you into hot water now knew about their detour. He thought about how he could get back at Sombra, splayed out in one of the bedrooms and snoring in a very alcohol-induced way. _Better not to_. The hangover she’d have tomorrow would be bad enough.

But in all reality, he should bring the Widowmaker in from the cold.

He sighed and slipped his mask back on, pulling his boots out of the closet. A clatter on the back porch made him whip around, but it was just the Widowmaker setting down her ice skates outside, her movements stiffer than before. He hurried to open the door, and she turned her heavy-lidded gaze on him, saying nothing as she crossed the threshold. She held her ungloved hands against her stomach.

“Here.” He pulled a blanket from the couch and draped it over her shoulders.

“Thank you.”

She let him coax her down in front of the fire, and he took her hands in his. _Ice._

“Your hands are freezing.”

“I know. They’ll thaw.”

He grunted and fetched a bowl, filling it with tepid water. “Moira says-“

She looked away from him. “Oh yes, _le docteur_ says. Because she always has the _best_ medical advice.”

“She’s doing her-“

Amber eyes fixated on him, narrowed in dislike. “And just because she’s doing her job she’s not a sadist.”

“Listen; I may not be much of a medic, but this is the treatment for frostbite. It’s this or ask her for replacement hands.”

Silence fell between them as she reluctantly immersed her fingers. Soon enough, she began to wince as feeling returned to her frozen digits, but she did not pull out of the water. He had to admire her discipline. Thawing frozen flesh wasn’t pleasant or easy.

“Thanks for dragging us out here,” he grunted, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.

She scoffed. “You think I like staying on base? The only way to stop the snitch from exposing me was to invite her along, and you with her. And even _that_ didn’t work, apparently.” She took her fingers out of the water and flexed them a few times. “I’m fine now. I’m going to bed.”

“You don’t want any coquito?”

She glanced back at him.

“It’s good. Trust me.”

“Fine.”

He got up and poured two shots of the vanilla-coconut liquor. She sipped at hers and made a pleased noise. Her gaze met his as she raised her eyes. He stared back. She hated comments about her different appearance, but her amber eyes and blued skin truly were an eerily striking match.

“What?” she asked sulkily.

“Nothing.” He stretched out by the fire. “Suppose it’s nice to get off base once in a while.”

“I’d live elsewhere if I could, but my…condition…won’t allow it,” she said bitterly.

“You’re not the only one.”

“Oh? What’s wrong with you? Why is it you wear that mask all the time?”

He stiffened. Only four people had seen under his mask, and he wanted three of them dead. “Not your business.”

“Wearing that mask around all the time has to be tiring.”

“Yes,” he said stiffly.

“You know I won’t tell or judge. You can take it off, if you want,” she suggested.

He grunted and shrugged a shoulder, watching her sip at her Mexican drink. “Used to…just on base. When I went to get looked at. Just don’t like people…staring. Think they’re shocked by me.”

A hint of warmth entered the assassin’s amber eyes, and she scooted closer to him, her fingers trailing feather-light over his mask. “I won’t be.”

He barked a laugh. “That’s what they all say until they see what’s under it. There’s a reason I wear this. And these.” He touched his mask with gloved fingers, then stretched out a hand. The Widowmaker took his hand in hers, and he tentatively let her hold on, his ham-sized palm dwarfing her delicate blue digits.

“May I?”

He hesitated, then nodded stiffly. She gently tugged at his glove, exposing the mottled ink-stain tones of his skin a centimeter at a time.

“This is why you hide.”

A statement, not a question. He said nothing, letting her death-cold fingers touch, explore the unchanging scars and calluses of his hands. Somehow, however many times he re-formed himself, the calluses of his old life stayed behind, a nagging reminder of the painful past. Some freaky-ass science, if you asked him.

The assassin gingerly reached out towards his face.

“May I?”

He nodded slowly. Her fingers touched his mask, trailing over the bone-white carbide ceramic. He jerked back.

“Stop that,” he snapped

“What?” She asked.

“Teasing.”

“I’m not. Unless you want me to?” She tilted her head.

“No. If you want to look, just look.”

“Then I couldn’t see you. Trust me.”

Bewildered by her statement, he reluctantly let her ease the mask halfway up, awkwardly obscuring his vision. Her fingers gently caressed his cheek. He stiffened, but allowed it.

“You have a strong jaw.”

“SEP,” he grunted.

The Widowmaker tutted. “The SEP didn’t give you your looks. Let’s see if the rest of you is as handsome.”

 _Handsome_. Now _there_ was a compliment he hadn’t heard in a _long_ while. He looked away as the sniper pulled his mask all the way off. Light, cold fingers adjusted his chin, like Moira’s touch but more substantial, a desired contact as opposed to a necessary one. He looked down into his lap.

“I know. It’s hard, Gabriel.”

She took his chin and gently lifted. Amber eyes met ember red ones. She searched his face unblinkingly, not afraid to look but not shocked or horrified by what she saw. She sat back after a long moment and sipped her drink.

“So?”

She shrugged. “What is it you expect me to say? To tell you you’re ugly would be a terrible lie.”

“I hate the way I look.”

“You think I don’t think the same?”

Gabriel raised and lowered one shoulder. “Don’t know what to think. You’re so private.”

“And you aren’t?”

He didn’t respond.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Don’t see why not.”

“Why do you trust her after…?” She glanced to his face.

“She saved my life many times. She saved the lives of Shimada and McCree when we were in Blackwatch. When we were family. Debt like that does things to you, gives you favors you can’t pay back.”

“But if you hate the way you look, why do you still follow her around? You might think you owe her, but your…appearance says she did something to you, either by force or by accident, that went horribly wrong.”

He flinched. “She didn’t do this to me. It was a freak accident. She’s been trying to fix it.”

“Has she? Are you sure you can trust her word?”

He hesitated a moment. She _had_ lied to him before, on rare occasions. But lying to him about treatment wasn’t something he thought she’d do. He knew she wasn’t personally invested enough in Talon’s ideologies to lie about trying to treat him to keep him in her and Talon’s pocket. “About this, yeah.”

“You don’t get tired of all the attempts? All the testing, all the waiting, all the pain?”

He looked down at the zigzag weave in the carpet. “…Sometimes,” he admitted, and it felt so strange to hear himself say so it was like another person speaking.

“We could leave.”

He sat upright and picked up his glass. “What?”

“You have the training to evade Talon. We could leave, just us two.”

If he’d heard that from anyone else, he would have laughed. Like anyone could just _leave_ Talon. That this line of thought was coming from the Widowmaker, though, put him extremely on edge. “And then what?”

“Anything we want.”

He put his coquita down and leaned forward, folding his hands. “Even if we found help elsewhere, even if I could convince Moira and bribe Sombra not to come looking for us, even _if_ we escaped Doomfist’s assassins-,” he paused and pointed a finger at her, “-and you know he would send assassins after us- we’re still wanted. If we get caught, we’re no better off than before, because you know any national security would broadcast our capture, and we’d be dead a week later, if Talon was feeling nice. I don’t think I need to tell you what would happen if they were feeling nasty.”

She shivered and said nothing. They both knew. They’d been into the labs before.

“I have _things_ Talon can help me take care of anyway.”

The glass imploded, slicing his palm and soaking his pants with melted vanilla ice cream. A drop of dark blood joined the puddle in his lap, swirling in a macabre imitation of strawberry ripple.

“Shit.”

He gingerly got up and pulled a shard out of his palm, then went about cleaning up the mess. He hadn’t thought he was gripping the glass that hard.

When he returned, he discovered the Widowmaker hadn’t moved, sitting there, staring into her drink like she wanted to drown herself in the dregs of the liquid.

“Snap out of it,” he barked. He knew she’d been trained for this sort of thing, but it always unsettled her when she sat like a living statue in noncombat situations.

“It’s all good for you,” she said softly, her voice acerbic.

“What?”

“You can get something you need from them. I? I’ve gotten nothing but pain.”

Reyes shrugged. “Then run if you want. I’m not stopping you. But you know, like I do, that there are only so many times Doomfist will allow failure from his assassins before he sends me, and even then that buys you only limited time. By his fist or my shotguns, he _will_ make sure that you die if you defect.”

A small shudder shook her. “I can’t live like this. Always on the run, feeling only high from the kills or else hollow and miserable. Always wearing a mask to disguise the pain.”

His stomach dropped into his socks as she let out a dry little gasp. Official regulations and ingrained instinct clashed violently as he stood frozen at the kitchen counter, watching her.

She was a weapon.

She was not to be coddled, befriended, or enamored with. Her perfect body was sculpted for one thing and one thing only: getting close enough for the kill, however close that might be. Even her brain had been hotwired for it; all extraneous feeling stripped away to reveal just that hair-trigger instinct and the ecstasy that was her reward for a kill. Fine-tuned for nothing else but to kill. To be maintained, and to be stored when not in use.

She was a woman.

Shattered, rebuilt out of mere splinters of her personality, weeping for a life that had been stripped away from her, a love that had died on the vine, laughter she would never again know. Chasing it, always chasing it, but falling short no matter how hard she tried. He saw it in the deceptively ordinary books she read, the pictures of French countryside she surrounded herself with. She was running from the people who had done this to her and, more inescapably, the alter ego that stared back at her from the mirror, a rictus grin plastered across her bloodied face.

She was crying, almost quietly enough not to be noticed.

( _She was not supposed to cry_ ).

She was terribly, horribly, _awfully_ alone.

She had to realize what being revealed would trigger, but she had entrusted him with her feelings anyway.

Just like that, he was across the room without really meaning to be there, standing over her. He awkwardly sat down, even more awkwardly put an arm around her shoulder. She collapsed like a half-baked soufflé, sagging into his chest. He patted her shoulder as her tears dampened the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Hey.”

Her body shuddered as she drew in a mighty breath, trying to steady herself. Her face remained pressed into his hoody.

“You brought us out here, and I’m glad you did. We might not have the entirety of our lives, but we can have moments like these. Moments of normality.”

“I’m tired of having _just_ moments. We deserve more than that.” Her muffled voice cracked.

“Not me. You, maybe. You got dragged into this. But not me.”

She shifted, staring blankly out the window. “I still see them at night. The people I’ve killed. They won’t leave me alone.”

“They can’t hurt you.”

“They make me want to hurt myself.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“Just you.” She choked a small laugh. “I sometimes want to anyway just to spite Talon.”

“You need to talk to someone.”

“Who? You? I’m not speaking to _cette chienne_ about my feelings. She’s always prying about my feelings anyway.” She gave a wet snort. “One day, she’s going to stick that pointy nose into something that bites back and get it bitten off.”

“Do you want that?”

“It would serve her right for what she’s done.”

“You still need to find someone to talk to. I don’t blame you for not speaking to the shrinks, but even the staff at the chateau is better than nothing.”

She said nothing for a long moment. “You’re not good enough?”

“I’m not very reliable. But I’m here for you tonight.”

She pressed herself against him. “Thank you.”

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her.

“It’s snowing,” she said after a long moment of silence.

“I noticed.”

“I love the snow.”

Gabriel did not respond, watching thick, downy flakes drift past the window. He wasn’t too fond of the cold, but he could learn to appreciate the snow, he supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may leave this as complete or I may add another chapter. Depends how mean you guys want me to be.


End file.
